


we leave the old world behind

by join_thejourney (orphan_account)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Aftermath, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Forbidden Love, Manipulation, Multi, Original Character(s), Other, Plots, Post-War, Secret Children, Secret Crush, Secret Relationship, Treason, Truth, Unrequited Love, War, more to come - Freeform, season 8 changes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 15:54:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20509589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/join_thejourney
Summary: In a world fourteen years after the deaths of Queen Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow, their only child, Princess Rhaena Lya Targaryen is being raised by the Queen's Hand, Tyrion Lannister, to take over the Iron Throne on her majority. With the coming of a new queen, plots, intrigue, lies and unearthed truths are going to slowly unravel the once peaceful existence, nothing is as it seems and Rhaena hasn't been prepared for the life ahead of her.-season 8 canon divergence, blending elements of the book and show to create this world, original characters and Jon/Daenerys daughter being the main character-





	we leave the old world behind

Rhaena Targaryen, fourth of her name, Princess of the Six Kingdoms and Heir to the Iron Throne, shared many similarities to her last namesake, though none thought to mention it. Both were quiet, obedient, and pious and could be described in one simple word, _good. _She had been raised with high expectations and a clear understanding, that why she may be Targaryen, it was best not too immolate her ancestors… the Targaryen’s of the old world had lied, killed and angered most and it was Rhaena’s duty to be everything they had not been; Tyrion Lannister had thought she would be a willful, stubborn and strong-headed girl and was pleasantly surprised when she proved to be none.

While she may share little, to no, personality traits with her Targaryen ancestors, look wise they had not been so lucky. The Princess had skin the color of snow and eyes a soft shade of lilac, if you stared at her too long you would notice the slow, grey molten swirls that moved endlessly in her wide orbs, but most did not linger on that queer feature since she had another; her hair was the shade of pure gold and could either be straight as a pin or curly as a Q depending on the day, with a single, brilliant white streak that sprouted from her left temple at an inch thick and down to the tips of her downy soft hair. Her lips were thick as a rose and the color of a setting sky, her shoulders thin and her neck long, though she stood only a few inches taller than a child and the rest of her frame was just as dainty and willowy… she was delicate and the people enjoyed it, she did not have a threatening bone nor appearance in her body. And so it was deemed fine that she looked Targaryen, it worked in their favor truly, because as much as the people had hated Targaryen’s, they were just as likely to fall to their feet and worship their unearthly, unique beauty… they were sirens born to life.

Rhaena was currently finishing her daily mass, the prayers were nearly apart of her lessons and she would have found them long, boring and useless if she did not believe so reverently in the Seven whom she worshiped like a good Princess should. She did not have a favorite God, that would be blasphemy to favor one God over another, but she was partial to the Maiden and the Crone… if anyone other than herself knew the latter, they would surely look at her funny and ask why she would think to name the Crone; Rhaena had always prayed extra hard before the Crone, she needed the wisdom and guidance as she approached her sixteenth nameday, which as of this day was only a year away.

Where her mother, Daenerys Targaryen, had always dreamed of being Queen and relished in the thought the closer she came to standing before the Iron Throne she had always dreamed of, Rhaena was not as keen… Tyrion had stressed how important the job of ‘Queen’ was and Rhaena as frankly terrified, having a Regent rule the kingdom in your stead was far different from having to make tough and difficult decisions yourself. Yet, that was why the people loved Rhaena, she did not relish in power or preen at ordering other around, she did not like the duty in fact and if not it being her birthright, she would have surely ran from the enormous responsibility.

“Princess, I apologize for interrupting, but the Hand calls for you.” Lady Brienne of Tarth had been a Guard for House Targaryen since the death of late Queen Daenerys and while she cared not for the late dragon Queen, she had always thought of Princess Rhaena fondly and had been eager to be appointed guard.

“_Father, Mother, Warrior, Smith, Maiden, Crone and Stranger, bless me and guide me on this day and the days to come, just as I shall worship and pray before your feet till the end of my own. Blessed be.” _Princess Rhaena ended her prayer as she did every day before she stood from the cushioned pew and made way to the statuesque Knight, Lady Brienne was always the one sent whenever Rhaena was being fetched and the only person who had the authority to do so was Tyrion, or rather Uncle Tyrion in Rhaena’s case.

Tyrion Lannister was many things, but he was not Princess Rhaena’s uncle, at least not by blood, but certainly in every other regard; the small dwarf had raised Rhaena since she was a babe after the death of her parents… Queen Daenerys having been stabbed through the heart in her bed by the third man she had loved, Lord Jon Snow, the once bastard, turned Night’s Watch Commander, turned King in the North, and turned Queenslayer; the Northern man never got to hear nor wear that horrid moniker in his life since he had slain himself after killing his Queen. Princess Rhaena had not even seen her first nameday by the time her parents died and that left very few people to raise the only heir to the Iron Throne, Sansa Stark was Queen in the North and it would be unwise to allow another ruler of the only separate kingdom in Westeros to raise the Queen of the Six Kingdoms, no matter that they were family… Arya Stark had left to travel the unknown world before returning years later, unsuccessful and wedding the only Baratheon left, Lord Gendry and Bran Stark had left beyond the wall and never returned. Tyrion was the only person suitable for such a delicate job and it only made sense since he was not only the Hand of the Queen, but also the Regent and so it was mutually decided to leave the blonde, orphaned babe in the Lannister’s hands.

As Rhaena and her loyal guard walked the endless corridors of the Red Keep, Rhaena felt her eyes trailing up towards the high walls where Targaryen flags and tapestry’s hung proudly, but they did not look like the ones in Maester Samwell’s history tomes; the old Targaryen flags had a three headed dragon on top of a blood red and soot black banner, the very image itself strikes fear into the hearts of enemies and warns those who wish to harm that dragons are powerful… new banner of House Targaryen was much different. The three headed dragon was only one, resting docile against the banner colors with its tail curled around its silver body whilst the House colors had also been changed under Tyrion’s orders… the red was akin to if you stuck your bloodied finger in water and watched the clear water turn a murky red and the black was instead a soft charcoal, Tyrion had said the new banner fit House Targaryen in the new world and it was important to leave the old world behind. Out with the old and in with the new… there were no more three headed dragons to reign hellfire onto the people of King’s Landing nor the rest of Westeros and it put the people at ease to see it signified in the House banner.

Rhaena often wondered what the Red Keep looked like under the brief reign of her mother or the long, disastrous reign of her grandfather, the Mad King Aerys, and late at night, after she had fallen deeply into her dreams… she believed that she was able to walk to the lost halls, dragonheads lined the Great Hall and fearsome banners blew proudly in the summer wind as faint, mad laughter echoed off the empty hall walls and sometimes… just sometimes, she caught glimpses of a small, blonde woman who looked so much like herself or another image of a tall, broad tan man with fearsome purple eyes and white blonde hair braided down his back and his chin as he merely watched her from afar… those moments of her dream terrified Rhaena the most. She never spoke of her dreams, knowing Uncle Tyrion would become worried and ask too many questions that she did not have answer too; it was best she kept that small, insignificant secret to herself.

“Lady Brienne, while I am with my Uncle, could you go fetch Faelena, I wish to take tea with her in the gardens once I have finished here.” If not for watching the Princess grow up, Brienne would’ve missed the order… Princess Rhaena’s voice was as soft as a bell and could be easily carried away at the gentle blow of a wind, not only was her appearance delicate, but her temperament was as well and it secretly caused Brienne to smile inwardly at how refreshing the Princess was.

“Of course your Highness, I shall run along and do this now, Qhono is guarding Lord Tyrion today.” Lady Brienne left with a bow before turning and hurrying off to the other side of the Keep where Faelena slept as Princess Rhaena pushed open the familiar oak doors and stepped into the cool room of the Hands solar.

Uncle Tyrion was sat behind the great desk, as he most often was, and was scribbling away at a piece of parchment, but his mismatched eyes caught Rhaena’s as she moved towards a velvet, cushioned seat and he smiled warmly at his pseudo-daughter.

“My sweet, how has the morning fared?” He scanned his charge thoughtfully and was pleased by the picture, she wore a simple silk dress of soft blue and a white veil of myrish lace pinned to her endless bounty of hair, down in unruly curls.

“I am well Uncle, I was just finishing prayer when Lady Brienne was sent to fetch me… she said Qhono is guarding you today, but I did not see him outside your chamber?” Tyrion and Qhono, the defacto Dothraki general had always had a bit of a rocky relationship… Tyrion thought with his head whilst Qhono thought with his brawn, Tyrion had turned to questioning their late Queen Daenerys while Qhono would never think such thoughts… he was loyal to Targaryen’s almost to a fault, but he controlled the Dothraki well and he had loved and respected Rhaena as much as her mother.

“I sent him away, the Dothraki youth need training more than I need someone guarding me in a safe Keep… besides, Podrick or one of the other guards in likely strolling around here somewhere should I need anything.”

“Besides the point, happy nameday my sweet.” Rhaena’s smile could light the night sky, perfect shining white teeth and the geniality similar to a child; the Princess stood and leaned across the great desk, with some difficultly due to her small stature, and placed a soft kiss to the Hand’s cheek before seating herself again.

“Thank you Uncle, you are most kind… it feels odd being fifteen today, I do not feel different nor do I look different.” Rhaena had thought waking up that morning that she would feel brand new, like a true Princess and adult wrapped into one body, but upon looking in the mirror, her face still held its round youthfulness and her body was still dainty and slight. How was she meant to the Queen of Six Kingdom’s in a years’ time?

“Perhaps you shall not feel different until after tonight’s festivities? A great party can make anyone feel brand new, besides most of the realm has been flooding since the early hours of the morning, just to have the chance to wish you a blessed nameday. In a year, we shall not only be celebrating your nameday, but also your coronation… is not that something to be excited about?”

Rhaena only smiled softly and nodded, mayhap Uncle Tyrion could not understand what she meant since he was not a woman… something Rhaena had been lacking since her birth, the closet motherly figure Rhaena had was leagues away in the North; Queen Sansa Stark was secretly Rhaena’s favorite, with her aunt’s flowing fiery hair and tall, curvaceous frame, with a look that commanded attention and obedience. She was everything Rhaena hoped to grow into. Rhaena decided that she would return to her rooms after tea and write a hurried letter to her aunt, begging for advice and guidance as she grew into a woman… Rhaena had had her moonblood a little after her fourteenth nameday, but unlike Faelena or the other ladies that lingered at court, breast did not bud from her chest and her hips did not widen and her middle did not grow softer with hopes of bearing a child.

“I simply called you here to wish you a happy nameday since I shall not see you again till the festivities tonight and to remind you that your cousins from the Riverland shall be here, Lord Edmure will most likely seek an audience with you in the days after the festivities. The Riverlands still struggle to this day after the Old Wars and he may wish to seek assistance. His son, the heir to the Riverlands, Elston Tully, shall also be there and I think it will be good for you to foster good relations with him since he shall be the lord you will deal with once you are Queen.”

Rhaena once again nodded, she had learned long ago that Uncle Tyrion did not require verbal answers, especially when he was bestowing a task upon you and not ask for your opinion on a matter; Tyrion always said ‘_words are precious, best not to squander them on useless drivel’_ and she followed that statement faithfully when in his company.

“Well, you may go, I have some letters I need to finish and numbers to go over… I shall see you later tonight my sweet.” Rhaena nodded and smiled kindly towards her uncle before excusing herself, the only sounds in the room as she turned to leave being the scratch of a quill and the soft _swoosh_ of her skirts against her slight legs.

\--

Upon leaving the Hands solar, Rhaena hurried off down the corridors towards the gardens where Faelena would be waiting, the air was cool and the sun warm, which was Rhaena’s favorite weather to lounge in… most ladies would not be caught dead in the gardens, not without long sleeves, a hat or umbrella to shields themselves from the sun, but Rhaena never had to worry about such trivial things. No matter how long Rhaena lounged or walked under the blazing sun, her skin never darkened nor did freckles blossom across the small bridge of her nose, her skin stayed pale and smooth, unblemished.

The gardens smells heavily of roses and freesia, the smallest hint of lavender wafting in the wind on occasion and it made Rhaena hum contently as she hurried through the endless weave of the maze until she happened upon a small, white iron wrought table where a single soul sat. The biggest smile bloom across the Princess’s face as she caught the eye of her best friend and companion whom smiled back just as brightly and prettily.

Faelena Flowers was an odd companion for a Princess, much less heir to the Iron Throne, to have; her name easily gave her social status away, though by looking at her, you would never be able to guess that the gorgeous girl was a bastard born girl.

Faelena Flowers was the only daughter of Lord Bronn of Highgarden, Lord Paramount of the Mander, High Marshal of the Reach and Master of Coin, and a whore originally from the fabled lands of Yi-Ti, Rhaena did not know the woman’s name nor what she looked like since Lord Bronn kept her in Highgarden, far from the court and any horrid gossip. Though it took one glance at Faelena to see which parent she took after, the girl was unlike anyone Rhaena had ever seen, with her dark almond eyes and thick, inky black hair that fell pin straight down her narrow back and her skin was even paler than Rhaena’s. Her face was a delicate oval and her cheekbones stood out proudly against her cheeks, her lips the shape of rosebuds and the color of the pinkest rose, it was a gentle yet exotic beauty that could not be ignored and people often turned their heads more than once to take another glance at the foreign beauty. If not for her last name, most would assume Faelena was the trueborn daughter of Lord Bronn, from the way she dripped head to toe in large, expensive jewels of all kinds and the endless, intricate silk and myrish lace dresses that she pranced around in… trueborn daughters of lesser lords turn envious upon seeing the girl and inwardly, Rhaena smiled at the girls obvious distain over their lesser fortunes, she would always pray for forgiveness the next day for such a naughty thought.

The two were utter opposites, like day and night, and yet they got along better than fish to water. Perhaps it was because they had been raised side by side, Rhaena only being a year or so older than her companion, but Faelena always seemed so much more mature than the Princess. Faelena did not have strict rules or any worries, Lord Bronn allowed his daughter to be as reckless and wild as she wished, spoiling her endlessly with his immense wealth, and because of that, boys were often drawn too her… too closely in Rhaena’s humble opinion. Where Rhaena still had a growing body, Faelena had a bosom that was practically spilling from her necklines and her hips flared out, to the point that her dresses hugged the flesh tightly; Rhaena often found herself comparing her lack of curves to that of her friend, but Faelena told her that eventually she would catch up and they could run wild together… as if Uncle Tyrion would allow such a thing. In fact, Faelena was the wildest thing in Rhaena’s life, the only thing without structure and if not for Faelena being Lord Bronn’s daughter, Uncle Tyrion most likely wouldn’t have let the girl within a foot of her person, but Lord Bronn would not have stood such a slight and he and Uncle Tyrion had a rather queer friendship, that fifteen years later, Rhaena still did not understand.

“Oh I do hope you’re not wearing that to your nameday festivities!” Another odd thing was Faelena accent, it was an odd blend of Westeros and what she could only assume was her motherly native tongue, her voice was as seductive and exotic as her appearance.

“Of course not Fae, Uncle Tyrion had a dress commissioned specifically for the occasion. I simply was attending mass this morning and wanted to be comfortable before being pulled into my chambers to be primped and prodded!” Faelena rolled her large, dark eyes playfully, she couldn’t understand why Princess Rhaena did not like being laced into new gowns or having her hair brushed and braided into the newest style… there were something that the two would never understand about the other.

“Well good, now that your questionable dress choice is out of the way, did you hear that Lady Alleria and Ser Hobbart were caught kissing in the stairwell by her father!?”

\--

Leaving tea and Faelena had been a battle for Rhaena, as it always was since the younger girl would never stop speaking if anyone permitted such a thing, she always had the latest gossip or tidbits of information that she shouldn’t… Rhaena still believed Faelena traded kisses with the knights or servants to acquire such well kept secrets.

The walk back to Rhaena’s chamber was peaceful, the corridors being nearly empty save servants who were running about trying to finish last minute details for the festivities, Qhono was the only other soul Rhaena knew and he had kindly offered to escort her back to her chambers to prepare for the nameday feast. The Dothraki man was fearsome and had utterly terrified Rhaena as a child, to the point that she had once screamed in fright when he had appeared too suddenly around a corner, her Septa had reprimanded her thoroughly whilst Qhono had merely laughed and promised never to frighten the little Princess again; now that Rhaena was older she sought out the older man’s company often, he always had a fun tale about her mother and he always spoke of the foreign world that was the Dothraki plains, Rhaena believed that he wished to return to his home often, but Qhono always brushed off her concern and assured the Princess that wherever she was, he would be, along with the rest of the Khalasar.

He had wished Rhaena happy nameday, in Dothraki of course, since he insisted that she needed to work on her Dothraki if she ever planned on become the Khaleesi of their people… she had much to live up too in these peoples eye, the Dothraki did not view Rhaena’s mother as some evil, mad ruler, never to be mentioned… actually, they often spoke of her and with great respect and sorrow, missing her dearly. They seemed to have never gotten over her mother’s slaying and Rhaena wondered if she should feel as passionate about the late Queen as they did.

Upon Rhaena entering her chambers, after Qhono taking his post outside her doors, she was greeted by the lovely sight of Missandei, who was pulling out various garments with her dark brows knitted together in deep concentration. Missandei had been Rhaena’s caregiver and maid since she was a babe, she had been a loyal follower and friend to Queen Daenerys and had vowed never to leave Rhaena’s side, a vow she had also made to Queen Daenerys before her untimely death. Missandei had been raised like a daughter by Queen Daenerys and she was pleased to return the favor to her late friends own daughter.

Missandei not only helped care for Rhaena, but she has also been attempting to teach Rhaena the innumerable vast languages that Missandei had acquired during her time as a slave, years and years ago. Languages was one of the few things that Rhaena did not have a natural knack for, everything else came relatively easy to the Princess, whether it be numbers, history, house history or letters, she could do it all, but languages was not one of them.

“Princess Rhaena, this one hopes you have had a good nameday?” Years ago, Rhaena had asked Missandei why she sometimes referred to herself as ‘_this one_’ and the older girl had solemnly informed her that during her time as a slave, she had been taught to refer to herself as such and has had a hard time breaking the habit ever since… supposedly Queen Daenerys had often remarked on it as well and had tried encouraging the young girl to stop referring to herself as such, but at times it would still slip out.

“Yes Missandei, it has been one of the best… I hope tonight shall be even better!” With Missandei, Rhaena was able to let out some of her more joyful and youthful traits and often times she thought that this was what it would be like to have a sister.

Missandei was no motherly figure, she had only just passed her twenty-fifth nameday and was still so youthful herself that Rhaena had always thought it would be queer to look at her as mother.

“I am sure it shall, Lord Tyrion seems to have invite the entire realm from the looks of it, and there should be many suitable matches to dance with tonight. Now, I shall ready your bath whilst you undress… oh and a letter was delivered for you earlier, I left it on your vanity.” Rhaena raised a pale eyebrow at Missandei’s word and watched the older girl trail off to fetch a tub and hot water before she set her sights on the single piece of folded parchment left on the vanity.

With delicate fingers, Rhaena picked up the letter and broke the unknown seal, it was simply dull red wax with no sigil marked to reveal who the letter might be from. Upon opening it and scanning the writing, Rhaena was certain she had never seen writing such as this and concluding she did not know who had sent the letter… though the writer certainly seemed to know her.

** _Dear Princess Rhaena,_ **

** _Today you are fifteen, an age which seems so young and so old at the same time. It is with heavy regret I cannot be there with you on such a joyous day, but you shall be in my thoughts tonight, as you are every other night. Happy nameday my princess and may your night be filled with laughter, ale and dancing and may your dreams be filled with nothing but light._ **

** _May this gift be a suitable substitute for my unfortunate absence._ **

** _Yours truly and always_ **

** **

Rhaena had not a clue who would write so familiarly and with such sloppy letters, but nevertheless she sat it down on the vanity and picked up the small trinket that had been folded inside, it was just a plain silver bracelet. No markings or engravings could be found along the expansion of smooth, sparkling silver, but Rhaena decided she liked the new jewelry nonetheless and made a mental note to slip the small thing onto her wrist before leaving her rooms for the feast.

“Come Princess, we must rid you of that gown and get you ready for tonight, turn around and I shall undo the lacing.” The letter laid forgotten as the Princess stood and began the arduous process of primping and dressing for the honored occasion, though she knew not to breath a word of discomfort as Missandei would only scold her improper behavior… pouting was not fit for a Princess after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Jon and Daenerys both died in 305 AC, Rhaena having been born in 304 AC during the stalemate between Cersei and Daenerys. After their deaths, Tyrion was left to raise the Princess along with familiar faces such as Brienne, Podrick, Missandei (who wasn't killed in my timeline and follows the age of her book rather than the show counterpart) and more. More about this world will be revealed in the future chapters along with new and old characters that will shape the world as the plot begins to unravel.  
My profile will have the social media links connected to this story soon, so be on the lookout for those if you enjoy visual character representations.  
Thank you, with love from,  
join_thisjourney
> 
> pinterest board - https://www.pinterest.com/join_thejourney/we-leave-the-old-world-behind/


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